The only one he ever feared
by Snakefang93
Summary: A one-shot on what would have happened had Dumbledore's animated statue arrived a fraction of a second too late.


**This is a one-shot I wrote long time ago. **

Read and review.

** The**** only one he ever feared. **

"_Be quiet, Bella," said Voldemort dangerously. "I shall deal with you in a moment. Do you think I entered the Ministry of Magic to hear your apologies?"_

"But master—he is here—he is below—"

Voldemort paid no attention.

"I have nothing more to say to you, Potter," he said quietly. "You have irked me too often, for too long.

_" AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Harry had not even opened his mouth to resist. His mind was blank, his wand pointed at the floor.

But the headless golden statue of the wizard in the fountain had sprung alive, leaping from its plinth, landing on the floor between Harry and Voldemort.

It was a moment too late, however, as Voldemort's curse struck Harry in the chest and in that instant, the Boy Who Lived lived no more, as the touch of death stole the breath from his lungs. A last, peaceful sigh left his lips as his legs lost their strength and his body crumpled to the floor.

"Dumbledore," hissed Voldemort, spinning quickly, a jet of brilliant light flashing from his wand toward the doorway where the venerable wizard was standing with an implacable look on his face. A whirling of his cloak and the wizard vanished from the curse's path, appearing behind Voldemort. His wand a blur, the air crackled with magic as statues animated. Shambling, humanoid figures made of stone rose from the marble floor of the atrium and attacked his foe with surprising quickness and devastating deadliness. Capitalizing on the distraction, the ancient wizard flicked his wand at Voldemort, calling down a brilliant white column of magic upon him, who hastily conjured a silver shield to absorb the blast.

"You do not seek to kill me?" called Voldemort, his scarlet eyes blazing, his voice triumphant, mocking. "You would consider yourself above such brutality?"

Rage burned in the eyes of the Headmaster. In answer, he flicked the tip of his wand at Voldemort's fleeing servant Bellatrix Lestrange. Two loud cracks preceded her falling to the floor like a crushed insect, her legs bent at odd angles, her screams echoing in the vaulted atrium. Another flick of the Elder wand and the animated statue of a House Elf leaped from the plinth onto her back, its long fingers snaking about her neck. A hard twist, a series of loud pops, and Lord Voldemort's most feared servant lay still, gazing at the ceiling.

"We both know there are many ways of destroying a man, Tom," Dumbledore said with disgust at his own actions.

"I confess, merely taking your life would not satisfy me. I admit—"

"There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!" snarled Voldemort.

"I beg to differ," he said firmly, punctuating his statement with a torrent of blue flame that forced the Dark Lord to twist away from the intense heat. Pale skin darkened on one side.

"And I, Albus Percivial Wulfric Brian Dumbledore shall introduce you to one shortly."

Another sickly green curse flew from the Dark Lord's yew wand, but an idle twitch of Dumbledore's wand flung the security desk into the path of the curse, absorbing it. Another tiny gesture sent the desk hurtling through the air at frightening speed toward his former student.

"It was foolish to come here tonight, Tom, truly, for I'm afraid the proverbial gloves have come off." Dumbledore spoke quietly, though his voice had taken on the timbre of something terrible. Waving his wand in a flourish, the stone statues, shattered by Voldemort's spells, reformed and charged at him.

He took a deep breath, and then raised the Elder Wand at his foe. It had been long years since Albus Dumbledore had killed with magic and had felt—and fought back against—the taint upon his soul, had heard the dark whispers in the recesses of his mind, the wicked promises of power and retribution. It had been many years since he had allowed himself to _listen_.

He opened himself to his magic as spells, dark, ugly, powerful, leaped from his wand, habits of old fuelling them with anger and hatred he felt towards his former transfiguration student . A summoning, long forgotten, came to the fore and before he realized, Dumbledore found himself muttering an incantation, ancient Sumerian, and watched as the broken body of Voldemort's servant writhed in ebony mist. And then _something_pushed it up from the floor and approached her former liege.

"Master," it rasped through torn vocal cords. Its eyes, glowing faintly, looked at him tenderly, filled with adoration.

Voldemort sent a Killing Curse at the reanimated Death Eater, but the construct, which was a no mere Inferius, ignored it. A dark cutting curse took off the thing's arm above the elbow and it flopped upon the floor, but then floated back to reattach. A blasting curse removed its head, then another curse, a portion of her torso. Again, the ebon mist caused the being to reform.

"Bella always loved you, Master," it said, grasping Voldemort's left arm with surprising strength. Grimacing as the bones broke cleanly, the Dark Lord muttered the incantation for _'Fiendfyre'_and a fiery snake writhed from the end of his wand, encircling the creature. Ignoring the heat, he wrenched himself from the thing's grasp and watched ebony battle flame. Infernal flesh blackened and reformed, as death, mere feet away, threatened. Finally, the creature turned to him and smiled wickedly, its eyes glinting, and spread its arms as if to embrace.

"Bella still loves you, Master," it whispered as she leaped toward him, evaporating into ash upon reaching him.

Furious, Voldemort slashed his wand at Dumbledore, launching a writhing mass of shadow toward his opponent, but the ancient wizard had vanished again, appearing beside Harry's lifeless body.

There was a flash of flame and his familiar perched upon the boy's chest. The black eyes of the phoenix met his and the bird bowed its head.

Something hardened inside the wizard at the sight of the boy and his magic flared inside, seemingly alive, and his blood boiled with fury, hearkening to the days when he last faced a Dark Lord in mortal combat, when he had first taken the notorious Deathstick from his former friend's hands and bent its wickedness to his will.

"Take Harry to my office, if you would, Fawkes. I'm afraid I have some business to attend to before I can join you."

The bird, sensing the emotions in his companion, made a melancholy whistle and flashed away in a burst of flame, Harry's corpse in tow.

Few alive knew that the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald and he had been friends once—and more—that they had shared dreams and secrets, had delved into the deepest and darkest recesses of their world in a quest for the power to rule, to bend humanity to their wills. Fewer still knew the extent to which they had succeeded, that but for an eleventh hour bout of conscience, Albus Dumbledore would have joined his childhood friend.

"I have defeated the Boy, Dumbledore," Voldemort said mockingly. "Your pawn, destroyed, your hopes with him."

"No, Tom, " Dumbledore replied sadly. "One must always look to hope. To do otherwise is to lose one's humanity, as I fear you have done. Would that I could redeem you, my old pupil. Unfortunately, now I am afraid that I must now atone for my mistakes."

With speed belying his years, he jabbed his wand forward and a massive shockwave burst from the tip, faster than his opponent thought, carrying with it the rubble of their battle. Voldemort, caught in the blast, was flung back against the wall. Angrily, he pushed himself off of the wall and began to float in the air.

"Crucio!" A brilliant jet of red flew toward the Headmaster, who turned out of the path of the curse. It missed him by a hair's breadth.

"While I grant that you are powerful, Tom, your use of the Unforgivables is nevertheless disappointing,"

Voldemort, still hovering in the air, turned toward the voice and fired another Cruciatus curse, missing again.

"They lack artistry, a certain _je ne sais quoi_. Had you a healthy soul, you no doubt would realize that the Dark Arts have so much beauty if you delve into them deeply."

And at that, Dumbledore whispered a mellifluous incantation, words like jeweled daggers, beautiful and deadly. A discovery from his youth, used in anger only once, the pale blue light of the curse illuminated the center of the Dark Lord's chest and the most feared Dark Lord in modern history fell to the floor, shrieking agony, as all-consuming, existential pain wracked his body. Long moments passed as the spectators in the atrium, including the Minister for Magic, looked on.

The greatest wizard of the age torturing the most feared-most disturbing, perhaps, was not the shrieks of pain, nor the power of the curse, which caused hairs to rise among those in the atrium, but rather the pleased expression on the old man's face.

After long minutes, Dumbledore lifted his curse.

"You wish for mercy, Tom?" Dumbledore asked gently, approaching the quivering body of his enemy.

"Yes," Voldemort hissed.

Dumbledore nodded sagely.

With a few brisk movements, cutting curses removed the Dark Lord's limbs. There was a stink of burning flesh as the stumps were cauterized.

"And mercy you shall have, Tom. I shall see your life spared, as I did Gellert Grindelwald's. You may reside in the cell adjacent to his."

" Who knows, you could even share your Dark Lord stories while you are imprisoned there."

And then he bent down next to Voldemort's limbless body and spoke so that only the two of them could hear. "And don't think I don't know about your little trinkets. I assure you, I know more of their nature than any wizard alive, even you, Tom. I know how to use them to bind this body of yours to this world indefinitely. Immortality, you may come to realize, is truly a curse if you are imprisoned with it intact."

Then, Albus Dumbledore turned towards the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, who was shaking in fear.

"There are Death Eaters down in the Department of Mysteries Cornelius. I will return in a few hours after taking care of Lord Voldemort" spoke Albus Dumbledore, ignoring the fliches.

" I want you to resign to your office and stay out of my line of sight as long as I am alive. I will not be held responsible should something happen to you"

And with that parting shot, Albus Percivial Wulfric Dumbledore left the Ministry with tears in his eyes, the body of Dark Lord Voldemort floating behind him as the Minister of Magic scrambled out of his way in fear.

...

**Hmm, so tell me how it is. Leave a review. For now, this is a one-shot and I have no plans to continue it.**

**The mystery of Harry's fate will remain a mystery.**


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